Saviour
by TartanPhoenix
Summary: The people had always considered him their saviour, the one that would protect them.  The death eaters simply decided to treat him that way.


Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. They, and the universe in which they reside, belong to J.K. Rowling.

Rating: M

AN: Please take note of the rating of this story. It is M for a reason and will continue to be so. This is a story I started poking around with quite some time ago, before all the Pottermore nonsense hit the web. For those that haven't seen the information on Minerva's backstory, I won't elaborate. For those who have, I'm sure you'll see why I found it ironic in relation to the story.

Minerva breathed deeply as she slipped back into consciousness. Rolling over, the silk sheets slid around her in the dark making her sigh. Her mind was still hazy, and she wasn't sure what dragged her out of such a deep sleep; there was only a general sense of unease. She reached out groggily to find the place beside her cold and empty; he had yet to make it to bed. Again. She pulled his pillow to her face, inhaling deeply, and enjoyed the heady scent of cedar that permeated the cloth. For all the time he spent locked in his office, he always smelled of the forest. Minerva sat up, shivering as the cold winter air hit her naked skin, before reaching out and wrapping Albus' dressing gown around herself and tripping over the pair of shoes he had left in the middle of the floor the day before. Shaking her head, she kicked them into the corner.

His mother's grandfather clock chimed the singular hour in the office below when she stepped onto the stairs, her slippers protecting her feet against the chill of the flagstone. The sconces burst to life, lighting the way. Albus had charmed them to match her magical signature after she had almost fallen down the stairs on one of their first nights together. He still insisted on trailing his lips along the small scar she acquired on her right hip at every opportunity.

The door swung open in front of her, silently allowing her into the bright warmth of his office, causing her to squint. The various portraits snored around them, the fire crackled happily in the grate, and she could her the heavy sigh of a greatly put upon phoenix in the corner. She stood behind Albus, and the sense of unease increased when he didn't turn to greet her. His head was bent forward, that much she could see, but the high-backed chair blocked most of her view. But, it was perfectly obvious he wasn't working; the stack in his outbox was almost three feet high, but there was no quill scratching. She reached up to wipe away the bead of sweat when her hand stopped in mid-air. The cold night, the late hour, and the inferno in the fireplace could only mean one thing. She closed her eyes and tried not to sigh. The foolish wizard; she felt her heart skip a beat. It took a moment to quell the rising tide of memories that these nights always brought forward. Memories could not help him right now. They would keep as all memories do.

She stepped around the chair and bit back the automatic sob. Her husband was curled in on himself, rocking back and forth slightly, his right hand pressed tightly against his chest. The fingers were curled in on themselves, shaking with the tension. The left worked furiously over the skin, trying to ease the spasm, but it refused, only acting to irritate the muscles in his left as well. His eyes were shut tight, sweat pouring down his face to mix with a few tears, and his chest shook as he breathed heavily though his opened mouth. A raspy sort of groan slipped through as another cramp pulled the fingers in tighter; Minerva could almost hear the bones creak.

Not for the first time, Minerva was thankful his chair lacked arms as she lifted the hem of his dressing gown and straddled him. She loosened the belt on the gown, letting it fall open, glad she had foregone nightwear; it was one less impediment. Reaching out, she grasped his right hand at the wrist, trying to be gentle. His other hand fell away, and she could feel it slide beneath the gown and grasp her hip while she pressed his right was against the valley between her breasts. Despite the heat of the room, his skin was almost frigid, and she could feel the goose bumps rush across her skin in response. "How long?" She asked softly.

His head fell back against the chair when her warmth hit his hand. "Not long." He gasped out. His forehead was damp, the moisture highlighting the smattering of small white scars that crossed the area. They were almost invisible now.

Minerva shook her head and set to work. She started with the heel, using the quivering flesh as a guide. Knots gave way as her thumbs pressed further, and his groans would not dissuade her. Slowly, carefully, she wiggled a thumb beneath his fingers and onto the palm. It was always the worst this time of year, when the air was harsh and cold, and she could feel the muscles pulse beneath her fingers. She rubbed gently, following the edges of the scar and working her way inward. The grip on her hip increased, causing her to wince, but she kept going. She could feel him shake underneath her, going rigid, when she finally reached the center of his palm and his trouble. She squeezed her thighs around him tightly to remain steady. The skin of his palm was uneven and rough, the tension palatable beneath it. The scar was still an angry red, even after all the years that had passed, and he still tried to hide them from her on occasion. Magic could only heal so much. She shifted in his lap slightly, trying to give herself a bit more leverage for what she would have to do. He knew what was coming, sliding his hand to her backside and pressing her to him tightly. She could feel every fiber of his robes as they slid along the inside of her thighs. His breaths came in short pants, and he forced his eyes open to meet hers. They were glazed with pain and Minerva could see the utter desperation in them. "Take a deep breath, Albus."

His chest expanded, his eyes shut, and she pressed down. His entire body bucked, and he screamed; only his grip kept her from falling unceremoniously to the floor. For one moment there was nothing, and then the fingers trembled and unfurled against her chest, quivering. She reached quickly behind him to grasp the back of his chair as he fell into her heavily, letting her take on all his weight. He was trembling, and she could feel his sweat seeping through his gown and tears gathering in the hollow of her collarbone where his head rested against her neck. Her behind would have a nasty bruise, but she just gathered him more tightly against her, letting their body heat warm the traumatized muscles of his hand. She rested her head atop his, kissing his crown softly and rocking them both, letting her own tears slide silently into his silver hair. "I've got you."

Minerva could only remember once when the cramps had been as bad; it was that first winter. They spent nights on end in almost exactly this same position. There had been nothing Poppy could do. He had tried to hide it from her after the first few nights when in the light of morning they could both see the massive bruises his grip or a fall had caused. Necessity quickly overcame his shame. Minerva willed herself to leave the past to rest and rubbed circles along the damp planes of his back instead. They sat for what seemed like forever. His breath slowed and brushed against her neck; at the same time, the fine hairs of his fingers tickled her skin as they began to move slowly, experimentally. They began to move a bit more, stretching the muscles, brushing against the sides of her breasts. Her skin warmed, flushed, and tingled in reaction to his touch. His hand stilled in response to her sudden breath, and his lips skimmed across the artery of her neck. She groaned lowly and tried to pull away, but his grip on her hips was too strong. He held her steady, her skin soft beneath his fingers while the tip of his tongue trailed against the pulse point slowly, tasting the faint rosewater she had bathed with earlier mixing with the fine sheen of sweat.

"Albus." She moaned, sliding a hand to the back of his head, holding him in place and massaging his scalp. His hand flexed again, and her hips jerked when his thumb brushed over her nipple. His answering groan rippled through them both, her warmth sliding over his erection. He could feel her heat through the layer of his trousers, and his grip on her increased. His lips dropped to trail over the skin on her chest, his beard teasing her. He faltered as sure fingers trailed the ridge of his penis, tracing the head though the fabric, and her own moans at the contact taunted him. When her hips started rolling against his he gave up any pretense. "Please." He ground out. He almost sobbed in relief when she nipped his earlobe, chasing away the slight sting with the flat of her tongue. With a muttered spell his robes were gone, and his skin exploded with the sensation.

"Just relax." She said, pushing him back to rest in the chair. He could feel her heart pounding beneath the hand still pressed between her breasts, relishing in the twitches and gasps the slightest movement could bring, the fact he could still touch her at all. Her skin was flushed and shining in the firelight, her lips parted as she panted. But, it was her eyes, those sparkling emerald pools that captivated him. They were dark with arousal, lidded, but they never broke from his. He was so hard it ached, and he could see her lips curl. "Relax." She was practically purring.

He sat, transfixed, as the firelight danced across her skin when she shifted. She glowed, his salvation, rising up slightly and lowering herself again. His groan was met by her shuttering sigh with every inch and pound of her heart beneath his fingertips. She lifts her hips and brings them back, achingly slow, while leaning forward, grasping the chair yet again. He is surrounded by her, cocooned within her, grounded by her. His breathing speeds up to match the tempo of their hips, and stars begin to dance before his eyes. His skin burns where her nail teases his nipple and her teeth find his earlobe. "Relax." Her breathing is as ragged and short as his own, her voice thick.

In an instant he falls. Their hands clasp together against her breast, her teeth sink into his shoulder, and his body arches away from the chair. When his eyes finally open, Minerva is heavy against him, her face buried in his neck. She shudders when his lips caress her hairline and his hand falls away from between them to gather her closer against the sudden chill. The fire had gone out.

"Better?" She asked, toying with his beard. Her voice was slightly hoarse, and Albus suddenly realized his ears were ringing. He grinned slightly and sighed.

"Mmmhh." He pulls her a bit closer before releasing her.

"And the others?" She stood up on shaky legs, not bothering to re-tie the robe she had, somehow, managed to keep on and put her hands out for him.

Albus reached out with his right hand before quickly grasping hers with his left instead. He would be lucky if it was useful again by morning. He shivered when her thumb rubbed over the scar at the center of his palm, soothing circles dancing over the ugliness. His stomach lurched. "Minerva?"

"Hmmm?" She continued to play with his left hand, her fingers teasing the inside of his wrist.

"It hurts."

Her fingers stopped, but she didn't let go. She grasped him tightly. "I know."

He returned the pressure, staring at the marred flesh beside her own. He could never tell her just how badly he needed her, how much he managed to be only because of her. "I love you."

Minerva could feel a lump settle firmly in the back of her throat. She had almost lost him, this amazing, silly, man. But he was alive, safe, and still hers. He was not lost. She started back toward the stairs, pulling him behind her. "Come to bed, love."


End file.
